On the meandering pathway to my family’s home in Kibbutz Ramat Yohanan, I always run find myself in heaven. An imagined heaven, of course, but a truly accurate portrayal of what philosophers, religious extremists, intellectuals and desperate individuals have conjured in regards to where we all want to spend our afterlife. The nearby Carmel mountain range is framed by an intricate array of lush flower vines, creeping colorfully along the verandas facing the sunflower fields. Exuberant hibiscus plants line the pathway, interrupted only by the presence of plump passion fruits and mangos hanging heavy on their stems. Ripe lemon trees scatter the nearby gardens, accompanied closely by rampant clusters of spearmint, basil and herbs. And when one can’t recognize the aroma of the nearest edible delight, the coral litchis, succulent and within grasp’s reach provide a fragrance consuming enough to focus on just one source of beauty. That is, until the nearby chatter of nestling swallows and humming birds focuses the eye on the azure sky, dimpled with creamy, sated clouds.
It is Ramat Yohanan, one of over 200 other Kibbutzim in Israel, that traces one of the most prominent forms of Jewish identity present during the founding of Israel. The Kibbutz is a collective utopian community that combines socialism and Zionism to promote a communal Jewish lifestyle that is primarily based on agriculture. Members all work for the same pay, sharing land, housing and belongings. Even before the establishment of the state of Israel, the Kibbutz movement served to establish a sense of Jewish community through the cultivation of land. And following the creation of the state, it served as a source through which new immigrants could more easily assimilate into Israeli culture.
Today’s Kibbutzim (plural for Kibbutz) account for about 40% of Israel’s agricultural output 9% of Israel’s industrial output, worth almost 10 billion dollars. Such communities have changed with time, and farming has been partially supplanted by other economic branches including commercial and high tech enterprises. Nonetheless, Kibbutzim continue to serve as a reminder of some of Israel’s core founding values: the maintenance of close community and a love for the land that supports such life.
I come to visit my Kibbutz on most weekends, and it helps me feel closer to Israel’s core because it fulfills the gaps left empty in the nation’s changing societal values. From the age of 15, President Peres spent many years living within Kibbutzim, and he even served as one of the founders of Kibbutz Alumot. When I sit with friends, drinking beers and snacking contentedly on the figs we have just picked from a nearby tree, I think back to the President’s youth and his own transition from the fields to a government office.
With Israel’s rising success in the high-tech market, its increased industrial output, and changing notions of religion and the true role it should play in the Israeli identity, Jewish selfhood is indeed changing. Kibbutzim are slowly being destroyed by the capitalistic values, that while positively affect Israel’s role internationally, have undermined some of the core aspects of Israel’s founding identity.
My imagined future of the Jewish identity continues to embrace the value of the close knit community: an environment in which members are obligated to support one another. Such an identity embraces the worth of the land inherently.
The kibbutz itself represents a safe haven from the burdens of the intellectual world. People work the land for what is needed- a career that is not necessarily recognized with honor in an academic environment, but so incredibly essential for the human existence. Sometimes, when I have such waves of recognition it is hard to see the value in anything beyond the basics. These are the revelations that spark my interest in how the President considers his own career after having led such a distinct lifestyle for so many years.